Support the Sumilao Farmers!

Lupa at Kalayaan!

Remember Hacienda Luisita!

Foreword

This story is dedicated to the brave farmers of Sumilao who on October 9,

2007, marched from

their homes in Sumilao, Bukidnon to the National Capital Region, Manila,

Philippines to

protest the injustice committed by Mr. Quisumbing who, instead of giving back
the land to

the farmers like he was supposed to, sold it to a corporation owned by the
Cojuangco Family.

This is the family where President Corazon “Cory” Aquino was spawned from.
This is the

family who was behind the Hacienda Luisita Massacre. This scenario have been
played over and

over in this country’s history that it could, by a marvellous stretch of the

imagination,

almost be cited as an example of what Nietzsche called “Eternal Recurrence”.

And my personal

answer to Nietzsche's question is that eternal repetition is a nightmare. We're

talking

Camus' interpretation of Sisyphus here, Sartre's No Exit. Pardon my cosmic

digression.

It is a shame that many people still subscribe to the idea that progress in this
country can
be achieved without regarding this crucial issue.

This story describes the situation here in semi-feudal, neo-colonial Philippines

where the

most basic rights of the Filipino people have been trampled on for generations
all because

of that something that people walk over and disregard everyday – land. The
author gives his

support to them and may their cause succeed.

Geophagy

This land is ours, the old man shouted, this land is ours and they stole it from
us. My grandfather's grandfather worked this land, and my ancestors, our
ancestors before them. The old man, shaking from the sound of his own voice,
from the repressed anger that built up slowly through the years and now
finally exploded, he shouts, give us back our land, give us back our land. The
people are chanting with him now, unfurling their banner which says that the
program was not implemented, that the program did nothing to alleviate their
sorrows, that the government should side with the farmers. The soldiers,
scattered all around the family's compound, outside the huge cement walls
lined on top with shards of broken San Miguel Beer bottle glass, the soldiers,
they gripped their rifles tighter. Standing with their trucks between the
farmers and the mansion, the soldiers, they watched as the farmers laid down
on the ground as if going to sleep.

Stand up, the young man said, stand up, the young man repeated, this time
kicking their legs. They were ordered to make the farmers stand up. They were
ordered to make the farmers go home. Stand up, but they just wouldn't listen.
The old man on the ground, barefoot, the cracks on his calloused soles showing,
he just closed his eyes and prayed, his shaking hands gripping the rosary tight.
Annoyed for not getting any response, the young man, he raised his rifle and
slammed the rifle's butt on the farmer's face.

Before the old man could utter a cry, cracks started to fill the air. The old man
slowly closed his body like a makahiya. His bloody mouth gaping, tears flowing
from his eyes, he curled up, covering his face with his hands, drenching the
rosary with blood. All this while the troops are chasing those who ca still run
away.

It's in the news that night how troops dispersed several protesting farmers.

It's in the news that night how several farmers were gunned down. It's in the
news that night how several soldiers harassed the camera man not to record
what's going on.

It's in the news that night how Mrs. Super Star successfully gave birth to a
baby girl.

It's in the news that night how Mrs. Super Star's friends congratulated her for
her beautiful bundle of blessing from God and we pray for you and we love
you.

It's in the news that night what the celebrity friends' gifts were. Giant Teddy
Bears.

Imported cradles. Educational toys. Designer baby clothes.

It's also in the news how Ms. Teenage Newcomer is dating Mr. Teenage
Heartthrob.

How Ms. Sexy Actress' new film provoked the censors and intrigued the critics.

How Mr. Old Movie Star is dating Ms. Sexy Actress.

Three days later, the old man returned. Someone was kind enough to drag him
off and carry him back to his hut during the commotion. He looked at the
abandoned field in front of the mansion littered with torn and worn-out
slippers. Only a few soldiers were left. He looked at the tattered banner. The
soldiers, they're smoking cigarettes. He still could see patches of dark earth
where instead of water, blood was spilled. Slowly, he kneels down, clutches a
handful of earth and shoves it into his mouth. He looks straight at the mansion,
all white and clean and beautiful. He chewed, swallowed, then brought another
handful into his mouth.
written this warm October 14 night

Ipil Dorm, Diliman, Q.C.

narodnikkki@yahoo.com